


Errors

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: 5 Missed Shots, 1 Game-Winner [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2013-2014 NHL Season, Clueless Patrice, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 17:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: It’s a second mistake to assume that after Torey stumbles away from the car that his job is mostly over. Because now Brad’s somehow climbing from the back to the front, first hitting his face on the dashboard and then getting tangled in the seatbelt. He flashes Patrice a huge grin of triumph once he’s settled again. This already looks three times more difficult than it did when Patrice was stuffing them all into his car twenty minutes ago.





	Errors

Their first game of the new year, also their first home game of the new year.

Brad scores the game winner less than a minute into sudden death overtime.

Patrice crashes into him like always for the celly, letting Brad scream right in his ear and not caring. There’s going to be two days until their next game and it’ll be at home, too, so he can probably go out with the guys and not have too many consequences. Except this means that once they’re done getting dressed and he’s on his way with them, they nominate him to drive them all home when they’re done getting trashed.

Great.

Brad’s the man of the hour, downing beers with Looch, Krej, Dougie, and that new kid Torey. Thank god Patrice doesn’t have to cram them all into his car, because Johnny offered to help. (Which is a really good thing because Kevan and Quaider have rejoined the cluster and are now trying to out-drink Brad, which never goes well for anyone.)

“How long should we wait until we stop them?” Johnny mutters, downing the rest of his bottled water.

“We’ll give them ten more minutes to finish making idiots of themselves,” Patrice decides. “You take Looch, Kevan, Quaider and Dougie. I’ll take Krej, Torey and Marchy.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re bigger than me and you can drag those four into your car easier than I could.”

“That’s a pretty good idea, Bergs.”

“I liked it,” he smiles.

“But do you really wanna take Marchy?”

“Are you ever going to let that go? It’s been almost three years.”

“Yeah, okay bud, did you see a different video from the one I saw?”

“Why do you do this every single time? I’m not even drunk right now.”

“Because you were bummed out for weeks after and Marchy didn’t snap out of it until the next season was two-thirds over. I’m tryna look out for you, man. You were both really screwed up after that and it sucked for everyone.”

“He’s had a boyfriend for almost a year, Boych.”

“Is that what he told you? They broke up months ago.”

Brad told Johnny about that and not Patrice…?

“Are you sure?”

“He was over at my house crying, man. I asked him why he didn’t go talk to you about it and he said it would be too weird. I really don’t know if you should take him home, Bergy. It might make him sad.”

“He’ll be fine, I’m just going to drop him off.”

“If you say so, bud.”

Herding Krej, Torey and Brad into his car isn’t all that difficult. It helps that Krej isn’t super drunk to begin with and Torey is as short as Brad, so both are easily manhandled into the back seat. Ten seconds after leaving the bar parking lot he realizes his mistake: Brad lives the furthest away and will be dropped off last.

Well, fuck.

“Take a left up here,” Krej directs as they pull onto the road, interrupting his train of thought.

“Bergy!” Brad yells from directly behind his head. “Torey’s shorter than me but he doesn’t believe me!”

“Marchy-”

“I am not!” Torey insists, reaching across and shoving Brad.

“Hey! Don’t make me come back there!” he interrupts. “Oh my god, it’s like running a daycare with you two…”

Krej snickers. “You should’ve put one of them up front instead to keep them separate.”

“They’re kindergartners,” Patrice grumbles.

“But kindergartners are cute!” Brad points out, way too happily. “That means you just said I’m cute!”

“Yes, Marchy, you’re very cute,” Patrice answers, rolling his eyes. (Marchy is cute, though, even when he’s drunk off his ass.) “Now please stop shouting this close to my ears, it’s really distracting.”

As soon as Krej is home, he makes Torey sit in the front so that the arguing over who’s shorter will stop (it doesn’t, it’s just more spread out now). Patrice wants to turn on the radio to drown them out, but for one thing that wouldn’t actually fix the problem because it would just be adding more noise and for another thing Brad’s too loud to be drowned out anyway.

It’s a second mistake to assume that after Torey stumbles away from the car that his job is mostly over. Because now Brad’s somehow climbing from the back to the front, first hitting his face on the dashboard and then getting tangled in the seatbelt. He flashes Patrice a huge grin of triumph once he’s settled again. This already looks three times more difficult than it did when Patrice was stuffing them all into his car twenty minutes ago.

“Bergy, why didn’t you drink with me?”

“Because if I did, nobody would be around to drive you home,” Patrice answers, forcing himself to smile.

“But I did really good.”

“Yeah, man, you did so good tonight. So I got to see you have a good time after, and now you’re going to go home for some sleep. Tomorrow I’ll come back and give you some hangover stuff.”

“Why don’t you just stay over?”

“Because I have a puppy now and he needs me to take care of him, Marchy.”

“Then bring the puppy for a sleepover! I love puppies! And kittens. And children. Anything small and cute.”

Patrice refuses to say what he’s thinking regarding the connection between Brad Marchand and the concept of _small and cute_. “No, Wilson doesn’t know how to let me sleep so he’ll probably keep you up all night, too.”

“But Berrrrgyyyy, puppies are so cuddly and soft and I need something to snuggle. Plus you can snuggle me at the same time! Everyone wins!”

“Bradley-” He cuts himself off with a sigh. Then he remembers something. “Johnny said you and Andre broke up awhile ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“What? Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know. Not mad. But like. You were really happy with me for finally doing actual dating and shit instead of random hook-ups.”

“I’m not mad, Marchy. If he wasn’t right for you then he wasn’t right for you, it’s okay. There’s not a lot you can do to make me mad.”

“Then you should cuddle me!”

“What? Why?”

“Because I like, feel abandoned and shit…”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Brad…”

“What? I do! People don’t like dating me, I’m fuck-ugly and too loud.” He’s sulking, though, and doesn’t seem to be saying this for attention. (At least, not entirely.)

“You’re not fuck-ugly, you need to stop saying that.”

“But I am. Also I’m a jackass. People only like me for my hockey.”

“Do you mean hockey skills?”

“Yeah. That. Bergy please will you cuddle me?”

Patrice groans. It’s such a horrible idea. (But he still wants to. Brad seems really lonely right now.) And besides it already being a horrible idea he also remembers Johnny saying something about this earlier, which makes it an even more horrible idea. (But Brad’s sad, and Patrice can fix that.)

“Fine.”

Brad leans across the center console and hugs him, clearly not understanding that he’s currently trying to drive. He thinks - what about Wilson? His puppy can’t just be left in the apartment all night without getting fed. An option presents itself, which makes this already extra-horrible idea into a super-extra-horrible idea: Patrice bangs a U-turn and starts heading for his place instead.

He argues with his logic: this makes plenty of sense. He has all the hangover stuff he would’ve brought to Brad tomorrow morning anyway, he has a spare pair of sweats for Brad to wear to bed, now Wilson won’t be left alone… now Brad won’t be left alone. And this is his third mistake.

In Patrice’s apartment, he lets Brad play with Wilson while he puts all the hangover stuff out on the table for easy access tomorrow (aspirin, Gatorade, non-drowsy Dramamine). The next step is to get Brad in the shower with sweats and a shirt he can change into after, and while that’s happening he takes Wilson for a quick walk outside the building. Back in his apartment, he has to keep taking Wilson off the bed while he’s straightening out his blankets - it’s almost like there’s two Brads to take care of, because both are loud, stubborn, and always in the way. (He doesn’t mind.)

Brad gets out of the bathroom and climbs into bed, grabbing Patrice by the arm and pulling him along as well. Patrice flicks off the side table lamp and relaxes, letting Brad wrap around him from the side. And forget fourth mistake - he realizes that Johnny was right and this whole idea was a giant mistake when Brad kisses the side of his face and sighs.

“Good night, Bergy. I love you.”

It takes Patrice almost three hours to fall asleep after that. He doesn’t know why he thought Brad got over this, but somehow he did. It’s really fucking obvious now that that’s not the case… and Brad is a pretty predictable, straightforward creature when you really boil him down. He’s going to start fights for no reason on the ice, given the opportunity he will get drunk whether he needs to or not, and most of the time he’s honest with his feelings. Which means Brad and Andre probably broke up because Brad still has a thing for Patrice.

Great. So he’s responsible for the end of his best friend’s relationship, which wouldn’t be that big of a deal by itself except that this was one of the only actual relationships Brad’s ever had. Patrice isn’t really sure what to do about this, either. It’s one thing to say “I love you” during a goal celly or some other situation where you’re just so happy for your friend, but this was completely unprovoked and Patrice is pretty sure it happened because the alcohol just made Brad less afraid to admit it.

Also there’s an equally big issue with this: crush does not equal love, and crushes don’t usually last this long. But Patrice can’t just up and abandon his best friend over it, not that he even wants to in the first place, and he wishes he knew how to fix it. It feels like everything he does is probably hurting Brad in some tiny way.

And so he lies there and thinks for awhile, listening to Brad breathe next to his ear. Patrice remembers back to The Incident after they won the Cup a couple years ago, the video shot on Soupy’s phone. He just wanted Brad to be okay back then, too. That’s really what sums it up for him: Patrice just wants Brad to be okay.

He rolls his head to the side, kisses the end of Brad’s nose, and the next thing he knows is an obnoxious sound in one ear and Brad whimpering “Make it stop!” in the other.

Slapping his hand along the side table, he eventually finds his phone and switches off the alarm. Patrice groans as he stretches and then looks over to see Brad’s head buried under a pillow, which is a pretty understandable reaction because his alarm is really annoying even when you’re not hungover.

He rolls over and hugs Brad: “Wait here, I’ll take care of you.”

The only answer he gets is a pitiful whine, so he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. Wilson keeps jumping on his feet and yipping, so Patrice puts out food first and then gathers up the stuff off the table. Brad hungover is lovably pathetic, just like how he’s lovably obnoxious on the ice, and Patrice accommodates him by helping him sit up and feeding him the painkillers.

Patrice can’t cook, but you can find anything in grocery stores (or Walmart) if you look hard enough, so there’s a stockpile of pre-cooked scrambled eggs and bacon in his fridge that he warms up for them which he practically has to force Brad to eat along with a second bottle of Gatorade.

“I’m sorry, Bergy,” Brad mumbles as he grudgingly eats the last bite of his eggs.

“Why?”

“For what I said last night. Not supposed to say that.”

“It’s okay.”

Brad sulks. “It’s really not, but thanks.”

“Why do you always think I’m going to be mad at you for something you can’t help?”

“I don’t know. Look, Bergs, you should really not do shit like this, I know it’s not fair to you.”

Patrice thinks desperately for something, _ anything_, that can help Brad feel better, because he hates this. Brad’s usually full of energy, bouncing off the walls and making jokes. This limp, slouching posture and dull voice isn’t completely because of the hangover and something has to be done.

Which is why he blurts out: “I’ve been kissed by boys before.”

Brad jerks upright. “What?”

“Yeah, when I was in school.”

Both eyebrows go up and there’s the grin, the one where Brad knows he’s about to get a really good story from someone and he can just barely stop himself from demanding to know what happens next. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Uh. The first time it happened I was thirteen. His name was Lucas and he was on my hockey team.”

“I can’t blame him, you’re very pretty and you were probably pretty back then too.”

Patrice rolls his eyes. “Anyway… I was really surprised the first time it happened. I guess it just didn’t occur to me that other boys would like me the same way girls liked me.”

“Did you kiss back?”

“No, but… it’s because I didn’t really know how. Nobody ever kissed me before. Girls would kiss me on the cheek, I would do the same thing. Most of the time I was too busy with school and hockey to be interested in kissing girls. So the first time I got kissed for real it was with a boy.”

“Was he cute?”

Patrice is startled, and he can’t help smiling a little. “…yes.”

Brad laughs. “God damn, bro. I was totally not expecting you of all people to have one of this kind of stories. So besides this Lucas, were there others?”

“Yes,” he admits. “There was also Jared in tenth grade, and Andy, same year. Those weren’t as nice, though. I was scared of getting caught. I thought I’d be in trouble if someone saw me kissing other boys, and… I don’t know, man. I stopped letting it happen after that.”

“But you liked it,” Brad points out. “You obviously must’a liked it if you let it happen that many times. Do you like kissing girls?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like kissing girls better?”

“I don’t know, it’s been too long so I can’t really compare them that well. I mean - shit. It’s been too long that I can remember,” he corrects. “It’s okay, Marchy, I’m sure you’re a great kisser.”

“Yeah, whatever. Why are you still scared of getting caught? People are beating me up for no reason _ way _ less now than they did last year…”

There’s notes of bitterness in Brad’s sarcastic tone, and Patrice can’t blame him one bit for that. With lots of encouragement from the team Brad officially came out at the beginning of the season after they won the Stanley Cup, and the backlash was horrific. It took forever for the league to do anything about it, too.

Patrice decides to be honest, not just with his best friend but with himself. “I don’t know if I could get away with it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m not you. People’s expectations of you are pretty low, so when you do something they think is weird or bad they’re not surprised. No, Marchy, I’m not saying being gay is bad or weird, because it’s not, but a lot of people think so anyway. But the bar is really high for me. I’m not sure what would happen if there were suddenly tabloids showing me going on dates with guys. And it would be even more noticeable because I don’t go on dates that much to begin with.”

“Wow. So pretty much what you’re saying is that the whole time I’ve known you you’re so deep in the closet that you’ve named all the coat hangers. Did you even realize you’re not straight until just now?”

Patrice can’t answer for a moment, because his whole brain is lit up in neon by the idea of _ oh my god he’s right, I’m not actually straight_. And yet everyone thinks that Brad is the dumb one between the two of them.

“Uh. No. No, I didn’t.”

Brad gives him a pitying look, but it’s not unkind. “Well… I’m sorry for probably fucking up the rest of your day, but at least now you know, right?”

Patrice chuckles. “I hope you can feel a little better knowing that I’m just as big of a disaster as you are, Marchy.”

The answering smile is trying so, so hard not to be sad and failing. “Yeah, I guess you are, huh?”

“What’s wrong, Brad?”

“Nothing.”

“Obviously.”

Brad glares down at his empty plate. “It’s just something stupid, and it’s also really selfish so I’m not gonna talk about it. It’s not that important. Eat your breakfast, man.”

“You say stupid things all the time, just tell me,” Patrice insists.

“Fine, whatever. You’re not gonna like it.”

“Marchy, come on.”

“I kind of was making myself feel better for awhile by thinking that it’s just because you’re straight… now I actually have to fucking accept the fact that you’re not into me because you’re not into me. It sucks.”

And there Patrice goes hating himself again. He doesn’t blame Brad for that, though, he really does just feel like an awful human being. “That does suck, I’m sorry, Brad.”

“It’s not your fault.”

**Author's Note:**

> Incidentally I have no idea when Bergy actually got Wilson, please don't hold that against me.
> 
> Part 3 will arrive on August 18.
> 
> Please comment.


End file.
